


The Librarian

by Judith H (Elizabeth_Mary_Holmes)



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bottom Erik Lehnsherr, Creepy Sebastian Shaw, Erik Lehnsherr Loves Charles Xavier, Librarian Erik Lehnsherr, Literary References & Allusions, M/M, Mention of abuse, Music, Queer Themes, Student Charles Xavier, Tattoos, Top Charles Xavier, mention of past sexual abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 00:20:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23985964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elizabeth_Mary_Holmes/pseuds/Judith%20H
Summary: The librarian is bloody gorgeous and totally fuckable. That's the first thought that crosses Charles Xavier's mind as he drops his books on the library counter. Unbeknown to him, the Librarian is thinking the same thing. And the Librarian will attempt towoohim.
Relationships: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier, Past Erik Lehnsherr/Logan
Comments: 14
Kudos: 31





	The Librarian

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nalou](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nalou/gifts).



> It took me ages as I started that one in April 2018, but this fic is published at last. I hope this little present will be to your liking, Nalou!  
> If you feel a tag is missing, please, tell me!

The librarian is bloody gorgeous and totally fuckable. That's the first thought that crosses Charles Xavier's mind as he drops his books on the library counter. Fitted white shirt, the three top buttons off, rolled-up sleeves, beige waistcoat, a reddish stubble eating his cheeks, grey-green eyes. The tattoo on his arm is intricate, showing all the muscles to his flexed arm. 

Charles has actually already seen him around the campus several times and thanks to the university's website he learns that the man, Erik Lehnsherr, is a postgraduate student doing his thesis on some complex literary stuff on the lines of the representation of homosexuality and jewishness in Modernist literature. Charles is  _ impressed _ and a bit,  _ just a bit _ turned-on by the man, so well-read and with that lopsided grin revealing too white and sharp teeth.

Charles is already a regular at the library before he knows of Erik. But now, as his sister teases him, it is practically becoming his second home. Sure, he is not spending all his free time there : when he manages to scrap a few pounds he goes out to the pub and tries to enroll himself in a pub quiz team, hoping they win the tab so he can drink for free. These last few terms Charles became an increasingly popular choice for teams as he is awfully good at accumulating random bits of otherwise useless trivia. Someone tells him he can even apply to University Challenge. But you win no money on University Challenge and nothing but temporary media fame if you were a bit quirky. 

Not that Charles is not a tiny bit quirky himself, to be quite frank. But then who is not? He is 20, studies for a BA in English Literature at the University of Westchester for three years. Still an undergrad, he has quite a bunch of work to do to complete his degree, but nothing that involved going so  _ often _ at the library. All the same, the place was warmer than his accommodation, it had free internet, and comfy armchairs. All the good reasons to stay indoors. 

Back to the librarian, he would readily have him but he is not sure  _ Erik _ would have  _ him _ so he just buries very deep at the back of his mind his fantasies involving shagging him on any and every available surface in the library. He knows for a fact that the man is bisexual : he is the very outspoken president of the Queer Union, in sharp contrast with his soft-spoken but always passionate self when he works at the library. But for himself, Charles is still very new to the thing and does not even know which label he should stick on himself. But gay would seem fit to him. To that day, all the quality sex he had comes from his right hand. Charles Xavier is still a virgin. 

He also knows that Lehnsherr is always sharply dressed but with a twist of his own. During the winter months he straps himself into a Navy blue wool trench coat, a fancy grey cashmere scarf and sports impressive leather boots and gloves. Charles had almost melt the first day he caught sight of it. Well, he had properly melt during his cursory wank in the loo before going to his 19th century literature lecture. 

Remembering that shameful yet pleasant moment, Charles is brought back to reality as Erik coughs with a smile and tells him he could go as he was done with his books. He carries on walking till he reaches the reading room where he plops down on a chair, drops his satchel to his feet and buries his head into his folded arms. Erik smiles at him as if he  _ knew _ , his eyes seeing to his soul. 

Each day he goes to the library, hoping to steal a glance at Erik, a bit disappointed when behind the counter he sees the French exchange student. She is not half-bad herself, her eyes the bluest blue and her tattoos are  _ cool _ , but not as interesting as Erik's he told himself. Her strawberry blonde hair are coloured many a fantastic colours, her arms are inked, just like Erik's.

Maybe if he asks politely enough, maybe Erik would agree for casual sex? How did people asked when they wanted to fuck : "Pretty please, Mr Lehnsherr, fuck me, I need it. Thank you, have a good day!" No, that is definitely not the way people ask, but it is worth being tried. After all, the worse thing that could happen would be Lehnsherr not agreeing to the thing. Maybe he should brace himself and _ ask _ ?

* * *

Erik exhales deeply and sighs as his back was still a bit sore against the propped pillow. But that has been worth it. The prickle of the needle on his skin is always a great joy in which pain mixes with pleasure. Has he been totally honest, it somewhat turns him on, that controlled pain. (For his second and third tattoo, he had sported a semi most of the session.) He knew his hips are sensitive, but to the point of him being hard, that is something. The torn and twisted cage and the words from Brontë had been the first to be inked on his skin, then the arm...

But he got inked again. The new piece is barring his shoulder-blades. He remembers wanting to have that Gatsby line on his body since the day he has read the book back in secondary school. He unbuttons his shirt and get rid of his trousers and boxers altogether. Now fully naked, his prick dangling between his thighs and a flurry of copper red hairs, he makes his way to his small kitchen. He pours himself a glass of cold milk before going back to bed. He will not wank thinking of Xavier's plush red lips and blue blue eyes. He will not wank, no he won't. Not now. 

But then all he had wanted for the past few months is to be fucked and to fuck Xavier. At first, he did not even allowed himself to think of him like that. Truth to be told, in the beginning, he was not even sure Xavier was legal. He looks so young. As if he is barely sixteen and Erik has some standards and cannot allow himself to fantasy on a kid. Well, if he is a uni student he is probably not a kid, but all the same it was quite disturbing.

One day, he has the occasion to have Charles' library card between his hands, he has been able to check : the birthdate was not in the noughties. He had not been able to suppress a shark-like grin of relief. 

All the same, he is not quite sure Charles Xavier is playing for his team : nothing in his mannerism (has Erik believed in such bullshit) betrays he could be gay or bisexual. However it becomes quite obvious he wants something from Erik : his gaze lingering a bit too much on Erik's flexed and tattooed forearms, his eagerness to go to his counter even when several people are ahead of him and barely none at the other counter. His painfully shy smile, his reddened cheeks as he speaks to Erik. 

At the time, Erik has found that crush, because he cannot imagine the boy to feel more for him than the regular teen crush on an older student, quite endearing, not to say, rather cute. He is seeing quite regularly a person he can have said was his sexfriend : a gruff Canadian who insists that he would be very glad for them (Erik and Charles) to shag as long as he can participate : "Yeah, you can bring here the pup, I would not terribly mind." But Erik would mind, he does not want Charles to meet Logan. The boy seems quite, not delicate, that's not the word but something like, inexperimented, and Erik does not want to corrupt that. It seems to him that he is some sort of predatory.

However it does not stop him from wanking thinking of Charles. Not only he finds him to be quite easy on the eye, but from what he is reading, he is far from being stupid. Several times, they even talk when he comes back with the books and that has led to interesting yet too brief conversations. Especially when other students are waiting to bring back their books too. 

It is a late March Thursday and something rather unexpected happens. The boy, or rather, Charles, tells him he would be glad to carry on that conversation when Erik's day at work would be over. His shift is due to end in half an hour (longest 30 minutes in a decade, it feels) and so Charles sits in the armchair in the hall to wait. Four o'clock, was the perfect time for a tea break, all German Erik is, it is something he learned to look forwards since his moving to the UK a decade ago. 

Not only does Erik have a sweet tooth but he feels like he can eat Charles raw. Quite a treat. But first, that meeting at the coffee shop. He will not attempt anything now, it would be rushed and he doesn't want to rush. Not only he wants to take things easy for Charles' sake but for his own too. He wants to play the full game of seduction like he has not done in years. To  _ woo _ Charles Xavier. Last time he's done such a thing it was when he was still a young and not so naive undergraduate. 

He met Logan via some sort of student exchange but the Canadian has the same opinion than he has on sex. It has to be casual and no-ties and while it is very enjoyable, they've agreed that if they find someone more to their liking for another type of relationship, they will stop theirs. Somewhat regretfully, surely, but it cannot last as Logan was due to go back to Canada by the end of the term. At least, Charles is not leaving yet. 

Erik stops himself mid-thought, he was not even quite sure that meeting with Charles counted as a first date. It is only when they push the coffee shop's door that Erik realises the boy was certainly  _ not aware _ it could seem he was asking Erik for a date. Not that it would be terrible to go on a date. All the same they have that conversation to carry on and so they do once they are inside the campus eatery. Erik orders a large Viennese hot chocolate and a lush plump blueberry muffin in which he bits eagerly as soon as they are settled and Charles goes for a cup of tea he drowns in complementary milk and sugar. 

"I started reading  _ In Search of Lost Time _ I borrowed three weeks ago, it is a bit of a tough reading, to be honest. Not that I don't enjoy it, don't get me wrong, but I am barely able to keep it open for more than ten pages at once. I thought of what you told me, how Proust was always speaking of Judaism and homosexuality even when his narrator a straight Catholic..." 

Erik bark-laughs, startling a few people around them. "That's what I am telling you, he is never more obvious that when he does not speak about it... See, even Swann, he is Jewish and queer coded, don't tell you never thought of what he could have been doing with Charlus. And as I told you at least three times, you should better read the Scott Moncrieff ranslation,  ."

Charles frowns and lowers his head and his voice, hesitant : "It's bloody expensive, either I buy it and I skip lunch for the next month or I don't buy it and ..." He has sounded quite harsh as he pushes back his sellotaped glasses on the bridge of his nose. 

Erik often forgets Charles is not as rich as he himself is. He has money from his parents, and from what happened with Shaw, and as a working postgrad he does have more money than Charles. Not that Charles is destitute per se, but he is not that rich. Erik himself tries his best to save some money but it is true it could seem he has luxury tastes. The coats, all the leather, the waistcoats, the privilege. Check your privilege, Lehnsherr. He remains thoughtful a few minutes before he said : "Don't think it charity, really, but I could lend you my copy." 

Charles scribbles illegibly all the references Erik pours on him, after all it has been his dissertation topic and now it was his field of research. The remainder of the afternoon is spend speaking and exchanging views adamantly with a few drink refills in the meantime. Four teas later, Charles shyly apologises and went to the loo, it gave Erik some time to think and ponder about how had went that non-date. It has been very pleasant for him but the pleasantness had been stained by the fact he had been such a classist wanker and it left a bad taste at the back of his throat. He felt he had been a bit too zealous when it came to his speciality and that was something he was castigating himself for. Charles deserves better. All the same, he is smitten.

* * *

And asking he does. It feels awkward at first. It takes him a few minutes but he finally tells himself that the worse that can happen would be Erik refusing to go to the coffee shop with him. And he and could get over it, could he? His life doesn't depend on Erik Lehnsherr's willingness to share a moment with him. He is a strong and independent young man and there is no way he would feel dejected if Erik refused. 

All the same, he has been very surprised when Erik agreed. Technically speaking, it is not a date. They are not romantically involved and while Charles would have wanted to, he knows the older man is far out of his league. Not only Lehnsherr is four years older, but he also seems way richer. His well-cut waistcoat only must have cost a month worth of rent, Charles thinks. And he cannot be interested in a guy like Charles. What kind of man a man like Erik likes? What kind of woman a man like Erik likes? Either ways, no one like him, thinks sadly Charles. 

He orders some English Breakfast, the cheapest item on the chalkboard hanged above the counter and a sausage roll. He will call it a dinner and so would spare his instant noodles for the following day's lunch. That sounded like a good plan, right? Hopefully, Erik will not notice that, all busy he was biting in his fat, £3.50, blueberry muffin. He does seem out of touch sometimes, but he was so damn clever and Charles told himself he should not focus on the appearances only. (even if the appearances are very pleasing, truth to be told). And Erik was beautifully clever and it seemed he could do wonders with those strong, deft hands. Charles is eager. 

Once he is done with half his sausage roll (saving the other half for later in their conversation) and is sure he would not spray involuntarily with puff pastry a shirt that it would cost a week worth of food to get cleaned, he resumes to their conversation. The book had been quite heavy and the translation even more so. He was not used to French writers. Sure he had read some at school, but it hadn't been his favourite part of literature. 

Later, Charles is quite dumbfounded. Erik Lehnsherr, aka sexy librarian, is offering to lend him his copies of Proust, the copies on which he had made his dissertation, the copies he had prized and cherished. Tea stained and battered, it was still a copy Charles would take the uttermost care of as he could never afford to pay it back. And Erik is offering to lend him these books. Was it out of pity or rather in a wish to convert him to his views he does not know and does not want to know. 

All the same, after a few awkward minutes, the conversation resumes and they find their way back to their shared love of literature.

When Erik drops here and there the names of Foucault, Barthes, Charles is a bit lost... Sure he knows about Verlaine and Rimbaud, but it was only because he had fawned over the movie years ago. Maybe that had been the determining moment that makes him realise he was not so heterosexual. Charles feels he has to get a notepad out of his satchel to be sure he does not miss anything. After a few minutes of pondering and rummaging in his bag he does so. 

Erik seems quite surprised but has a shark-like and proud smile. However, after a while, Charles realises the man is listening to him intently and not out of sheer politeness, bouncing back on his ideas, as if what he is saying really mattered. Three cups of tea later, high on the excessive amount of sugar in his drink, Charles felt absolutely great and was absolutely delighted to see that he had the undivided and rapturous attention of Erik Lehnsherr. 

It is nearing six o'clock when he excused himself to go to the loo. Too much tea. All the same, Charles is glad. Because if it was possible to get an hard-on from mental stimulation only, Erik would have given him the best mental boner ever. It is so interesting to listen to him rambling on all the great things he knows and had seen. Yes, Charles was somewhat living by proxy, but to hell with it, it is interesting to learn new things. And to spend time with Erik... is a very very nice perk to it. He does not know how the last two hours went.

Washing his hands, Charles still thinks about Erik and what he feels for him. What words to put on his feelings. He knew that in the beginning, it has been unmistakably lust. Lust and a drive to wank furiously thinking of Erik. Only thinking of his body, of his strong deft hands, of a prick he imagined to be huge. (Yes, Charles doesn't know yet the name of it, but he is a size-queen [but no pillow princess]). It has only been all about body, body, body and no brain. But as he got to know better Erik, it was a bit less all body-driven. Less furious wanking and more talking even if it had been till now a few minutes scrapped each week. And today he is at a sort-of-a-date with Erik. 

He makes his way back to the main room, and takes a full minute to linger on Erik's chiselled features. You could cut yourself on those cheekbones. Even with his head lowered to his phone and typing furiously, the man is absolutely gorgeous. Charles sits back and figures he will eats the second half of his now cold sausage roll. But finds it warm. Surprised, he looks at Erik who stares back at him with a small, somewhat shy, grin. He smiles back at him and now, he knows he is irremediably in love. 

* * *

Yes, Erik went to the counter and asked the barmaid to warm up Charles' roll. He doesn't quite know why, no one asks him to do it, but yet he does. Maybe, just for seeing Charles smile in surprise. Just to see his lovely face illuminated by a grateful smile. They talk a bit more, no longer about literature but more about their lives and themselves. All over sudden, Erik learns about him more in thirty minutes of honest conversation than he managed to glean the last seven months. Charles could have been rich if not for his horrible stepfather, he never dated anyone before, he never asked someone out either. He thinks he is gay, he is okay to come to the next meeting of the Queer Union next Monday and Erik cannot suppress a mirthful smile. It is still not a date, but Charles accepts his invitation. He cannot help but feel giddy like the teenager he was not so long ago. 

The barmaid comes to their table with an apologetic smile. Says, it's seven o'clock guys, we are going to close. Erik has a somewhat murderous glance for her, but it's not her fault. Both men stand up and make their way to the door after collecting their belongings. Charles almost forget his notepad covered in spidery handwriting but Erik picks it for him. Once out, they enjoy the warm breeze of the late March night. It feels good. The air smells of Spring and the first stars are like tiny needles prickling the light blue denim of the sky vault. Erik wants to do so something, he feels bold enough and, just like that, puts his large hands on Charles' hips under his jacket, cocks his head to the side, mutters something along the lines of " It would be okay to say no, you tell me, no pressure." 

It had not started like a date, but it ends like one. Erik kisses Charles softly and Charles kisses him back ferociously. He asks something along the lines of "Am I dreaming?" and Erik stops the kiss to wrap the young lad in a bearish embrace. He is so young, he has to be reassured, assumes. He rubs Charles' back slowly. "That's fine, there, there." It seems he is drowning under the unexpected situation but all the same that he was enjoying himself. But Erik does not want to force him to more than he can stand or anything he would not want. Or anything he would feel he would want at first but would later regret. 

He offers to drive back Charles to his place. Charles seems torn between accepting and taking the bus, but ultimately he accepts. On the way to pick up his motorbike, Erik asks him where he lives and the boy mutter something along the lines of Rotten Row. Erik knows the place and knows the street is true to its name. He hands Charles his spare helmet and twenty minutes later, through the thinning traffic, drops him at number 12. It somewhat pains him to leave him at that dreary place. The furtive glance he manages to catch of the corridor shows a peeling wallpaper and a stench of over-cooked cabbage. Erik says nothing, but promises himself he will do something for that. Charles waves timidly at him as he straddles back his bike to his own place. It feels almost luxury in comparison with Charles'. He cannot help saying "See you on Monday!" and Charles seems so happy.

Once back at his flat, he has a long warm shower, puts some clean underwears and a tshirt and fixes himself a spot of dinner : the muffin had filled him up, but he knows that if he does not it now, he will have to eat during the night. So after a bowl of reheated soup, he makes his way to bed where he collapses. What a day, what a night. He looks forwards to Monday. And seeing Charles.

* * *

The Queer Union of the University of Westchester has been created in the early 90's and since these days has a tradition of being staunchly involved in all the fights they could. However, under the presidency of Erik Lehnsherr, it became increasingly culturally driven even if they never ceased their crackdown and involvement in demos. With some assistance from Emma Frost, the media studies graduate, they get to organise a bimonthly movie night. Erik uses some of his money to personally improve the meagre library and makes it a mission of his that everyone can find a book representing them in the books he chose. 

But Charles doesn't know that and will perhaps never know. He spends his weekend getting busy working on his stuff, manages to complete his paper on John Donne, reads a couple poems more than he actually needs. Falls in love with a sonnet, thinks that now he is in love, it sounds different. As if all the cliches and convenances of poetry were speaking to him, in a brand new light. Yes, Charles is a romantic at heart. He is not so sure for Erik. When he sees all those tattoos, he shudders a bit. Sometimes, the man looks dangerous. He has to admit himself and that is quite tough, that he finds it rather exciting. What it would be to dominate such a man. Mmmm. Charles never thought of someone else in such a way. Yes, he did fantasies on other boys (and the occasional teacher) back in his school days, but often it was pretty tame in comparison to what he had dreamed the last few months. 

Sunday seems to drag on but soon Monday comes. This morning, he wakes up early. Under the warm spray of his shower (if there a thing working well in his flat, it's the plumbing, and that's quite a relief) he scrubs himself. Bright pink, he faces the mirror of his closet and tries to find his best shirt. The light blue one, a safe bet. He feels good in it. A quick gulp of coffee and he makes his way to the nearby bus stop. He survives his 25 minute commute to the university. 

It cannot be to long before the evening and their second "not-a-date". When he enters the room where the tutorial is held, he realises that he has come very early by his own standards. He has twenty minutes to kill before the class officially starts. He sees people arriving one by one: Sean Cassidy comments with a teasing smile and a mock catcall : "All dolled-up, Xavier?". 

Charles lowers his head but doesn't feel too bad about it as it comes from the guy who wears a vertically striped yellow and black shirt... So he largely prefers to be "dolled-up" than frankly ridiculous. Before Charles can think of anything to reply, the tutorial starts. He scribbles diligently, answers to the questions like he usually does, but his mind is elsewhere.

He thinks of the kiss, of Erik's hands leaving a burning mark on his hips, of his smile, of everything about Erik. Luckily, his day is packed with lectures and so he doesn't lose himself too much. Some more work for two weeks, the lecturer tells about a book they must find at the library, and Charles smiles. He knows the title and all about it : he spoke of it with Erik on Thursday. For lunch, he feels fancy and goes to the eatery to grab some food. After that, he dozes a bit during the first afternoon lecture but by five, is definitely giddy. He realises that other people will be here at the meeting but he does not mind, he is to see Erik and that is good. 

The evening at the Queer Union goes well, Charles gets to know better other students. There's Hank, a bit grand-fatherish: darted pressed trousers and dainty shirt, Emma and her girlfriend, Moira, she jokingly calls her her trophy wife, so many new faces, smiles, welcomes and handshakes. He never officially came out to anyone but his sister (and to his step-father [but that had partially been a reason for him to kick him off their place]) and tonight, he feels he belongs, that he is valid, that he is not a fool, that it is alright. 

It does him good. Erik sits close to him, when they pass around some cold beers, he feels his hand making his way to Erik's thigh. It feels warm. The flesh is firm, it screams : "ownership" but that's actually not bad as Erik smiles proudly at his initiatives. The evening is enjoyable and it ends on another kiss, this time initiated by Charles on his tiptoes. It lingers till he puts his hands in Erik's raw denims back pockets and they kiss some more. Erik cannot suppress a grin and teases him : "Eager, are we?". He had half-expected Charles to turn red beet but no, Charles answers with a smirk : "Oh yes, very when you are involved.".

Emboldened, he makes sure Erik knows the effect he has on him. He would have thought it rude in any other circumstances, but he has to show, to make him  _ know _ . "I'm not sure I'll be able to wait for long... but I have to be good..." gulps the postgrad. Charles wants it, wants him, but it's still a bit early. Bold, but still making his mind. Erik drives Charles back to his dingy flat and pecks him chastely. 

Now when he walks around the campus, some people stop to wave at him, to chat a bit and exchange a few niceties. He is almost certain Hank has tried to chat him up. But he is taken. Or rather his heart is taken. Erik and him have not even defined what they are. If they are something. But the casual texts, the Good Mornings, the Good Nights, the few pictures, Erik seems in love if Charles is to be trusted. 

The next time they meet, they are at the library and Erik is behind the counter bantering happily with the French girl. She is showing him a sizeable part of her arm. Her pale skin inked with complicated motifs. Charles feels his guts coil and recoil as he passes in front of the counter to go to the reading room. He is somewhat appalled by his own feelings. There's no need to be jealous. No need to be jealous of a girl he does not know and will never know. Just because she was talking with Erik. He seats with an heavy sigh and castigates himself. He drowns himself into his work. Rewrites a full essay. He stays there a bit more than an hour and half. 

When he brings back his books he drops them a bit more forcefully than necessary on the counter. If a look could kill, the woman would be dead. "Bad day?" she asks with concern and Charles feels bad about his unfair hatred of an unknown person and grimaces an apologetic smile. Erik is taking his break, she says. Indeed, when Charles gets out of the library, shoving the books in his satchel, Erik is on the bench facing the library, a fag stuck between his forefinger and his middle finger and he takes long drags, head thrown back. He looks like a lion caught is in his pleasure, his hair, burnished gold, in the late afternoon light. Rarely Charles has seen something so mesmerising. Maybe when he had fantasied on Jaime Lannister when he had first read _A Song of Ice and Fire_. Erik would be a terrific Jaime. Charles would somewhat mind to remain the  _ Maid _ of Westchester, but still, there is plenty of time for that.

* * *

Erik always talks a lot with the French girl. She is one of his most interesting colleagues and like him, she is inked and it always leads to very interesting conversations. Laura and Erik were also fans of the same bands and he lets out a loud sigh when she tells him she had managed to secure a ticket for a gig he had very much wanted to attend. There's still a couple ones for the one in Gillamoor, he is aware. Maybe he will go and ask Charles to come with him. Yes, he will go to the gig with Charles. But first, he will have to ask. He even knows where to crash in Gillamoor so as to save them the hassle of booking an hotel room. 

He distractedly taps his fag as he feels his fingers becoming hot. It gets him out of his thoughts and it makes him realise someone is watching him intently. That's Charles, from the steps in front of the library. He smiles as he exhales a long drag. He could put a show for him, to make his cigarette smoking more erotic than it should be, but he does not feel like it. And then Charles walks in front of the bench and Erik feels he has to ask him and so does. 

Before Charles answers he can notice some anxiety : "Is it a date?". Yes, Charles, it's a date. Erik wants to officialise what they have. But the question carries much more and Erik feels he has to reassure Charles. Charles never went to a gig, it will be his first time apparently. After much more discussing and some reassuring, Charles accepts. He makes a point of paying for his ticket but Erik dismisses it. It's not charity, he says, just a date, and for a date he should not be the one paying, right? Erik had texted his pal, there will be a folding couch for them to sleep on. The Scottish lad teases Erik about him bringing a date and them not shagging in his living room. (Yes, he did once caught Erik in the middle of a very interesting position). The fact that the guy was a former flame of Erik does not help with embarrassment.

Charles will sleep at Erik's the night before, it will be more convenient to catch their early morning train. The term is almost over so Charles does not feel too bad about missing a couple lectures. However he insists he cooks for them in the evening and so whips some great food with stuff he finds in Erik's pantry. Student cooking at its finest. Later they lounge on the couch, Charles nestled between Erik's strong legs with a book. A soft peck from the corner of his lips. Erik makes him face him, Charles now straddles his hips and kisses him greedily, his hands on Erik's scapulae. Moved as if by an automatism, Erik ruts against Charles and bucks his hips, eager for more friction. He grunts loudly, Charles bits his too red lips as he tries to suppress a groan. "We're soundproofed here, Charles," he says with a smile. 

He has not done that in ages, not since his early pleasure-seeking sessions when he rutted against his bed covers but it feels great. After about fifteen minutes of it, he asks Charles to move a bit. Charles looks concerned to the uttermost. Did he do something he should have not? No, Erik reassures him, Charles does it very well, it's fine, more than fine actually. He sits upright on the couch and asks him if it's fine for him, if he wants to do it. He does not want to rush Charles. As he does in class, Charles asks several questions to be sure he understands well what is asked of him. Erik patiently replies to each. No, gay sex is not just about penetration, handjob is a thing. Yes, they can keep kissing. Yes, Erik will do that but only if Charles wants it. 

A few minutes later, both men peel their trousers they leave in a heap on the floor. Charles seems faintly scandalised to see Erik's well cut slacks on the floor but soon forget all about it. They sat back on the couch and at Charles' initiative, they hold hands as the other hand is to their pricks. Charles is not yet ready for giving his boyfriend a handjob but he watches him studiously as his large hand fumbles. Erik knows perfectly well how to make it perfunctory but today, he lingers, makes it last, throwing himself closer to the edge at each push. Charles is not idle himself and does his best even if at first it seemed odd to wank in front of someone else. They come a few minutes apart in a loud moan and frankly ridiculous smile painting their features, Charles' head resting softly on Erik's shoulder. 

For all very pleasant it is, Erik knows that in the morning, they will curse themselves. Sitting in a couch is definitely not the most comfortable position to sleep in. He drinks in the sight of the half-asleep Charles for a solid half-minute till he gently shakes his shoulder. "Charles, come to bed," Charles groans a bit but finally stands up, a bit wobbly. They both go to the bathroom and Erik hands him a warm wet flannel to wash himself. Much better. To avoid him unpacking his little duffel bag, Erik lends him a t-shirt of his and some underwear : both comically large. Not that Charles is small, but the other man does have large shoulders, so it seems that Charles is wearing a sort of dress with bloomers. Erik laughs mirthfully and shows Charles to his lair.

* * *

The room is well-lit, a wee-bit messy, the bed is unmade, heaps of clothes here and there. A crumpled magenta shirt frays with grey wool trousers, solitary socks here and there, several totes bags with lots of things in. But then Charles sees the books and the desk and that is jaw-dropping. If he has thought there were many books in the living room, the entire wall of the bedroom is covered with bookshelves, very crammed bookshelves. Distractedly, he passes a hand on the spines, in awe. He looks somewhat envious too, but Erik reminds him gently that he is still young, he has a lifetime to assemble a library of his own. Erik manages to not make it sounds like a reproach. 

Some bands posters hang on the walls, on the desk, a small picture in a frame of Erik with a tall woman that looks eerily like a female version of him, a relative certainly. "My mother." answers Erik to the silent question. On these words, Charles feels like he is an intruder and mutters some excuses. "If I had not wanted you to "intrude" we would not have done what we did on the couch, you know" reassures Erik with a smirk. They sit on the bed, comically going for the same side. Charles awkwardly passes the other side while admiring a bit of his "boyfriend", yes that was the word, firm back as he plugs-in his phone and sets the alarm clock. Five-Thirty. That's insanely early. Even by Charles' standards who wakes at six every day to be able to catch the bus to uni. 

Once under the covers, Charles does not quite know what he is allowed to do and so lays on his back, fixing the ceiling. The low rumble of Erik's laugh shakes the bed. "No need to be a plank, Xavier, you can make yourself at home, right?". So Charles shifts a bit till he finds himself at ease, and that's much better. Not as good as being all sprawled on his bed, but still more than okay. 

The alarm clock the following morning finds them wrapped in a confuse tangle of limbs like some sort of giant octopus. They yawn loudly and pad their way to the small kitchen. Erik fixes them some coffee and tells Charles to rummage through the cupboards to find something he might want to eat. They had packed a few things for the journey but presently, he cannot find anything in his rummaging. Erik opens the top cupboard, the one Charles certainly cannot reach on his own. 

A few gulps of coffee later, he feels definitely more awake. Erik does not bother with a bowl, he eats his cereal directly from the packet. So Erik is finally human after all, muses Charles as he munches on some toast. Then, the shower, they take turn and Erik lets Charles go first. He says he has something to do in the meantime and tells him he can take a clean towel under the sink.

Under the hot spray, Charles relaxes and chases the last remains of sleep. At some point, it seems to him Erik is calling out his name, but he knows it must be a figment of his very vivid imagination. Once clean, dry and dressed, it feels so much better. Out of the bathroom he catches sight of Erik shoving paper tissues in the bin but does not question. He can guess what the other man did just minutes before and smiles a bit. Erik is definitely very human. When he sees that Charles saw him, his cheeks redden ever so softly and he mutters a soft "Your fault." to Charles and it is Charles' turn to redden, but much more. 

Erik invites his guest to take a book when he makes his way to the bathroom. He mentally notes the title of the book on Erik's bedside table.  _ Rashi's Daughters _ . The book is riffle with bright orange post-its. Typically Erik. However he goes to the shelves in the living room where he thinks it will be easier to find something he can read easily during their four hour journey to Gillamoor. 

He hadn't counted on Erik bringing a folding chess set. It's past Eastwick when Charles gets to understand the game. It is not that hard per se, but so much can happen. Several games and a hundred miles later, they are just arriving at Old Castle station and he finally gets the knack and Erik loses his first game. They keep on playing and take a break when they change trains at Falcon Haven. Forty minutes is enough to allow themselves a bit of a walk (and a cigarette for Erik) and a break for food. They split with a knowing smile a large blueberry muffin they buy at a nearby bakery and climb back in the next train. In less than an hour now, they will be in Gillamoor. 

* * *

Erik is glad to be back in Gillamoor, he studied there for four years before moving to Westchester for his masters and subsequently, his PhD. He had loved the town very much. He had spend time wearing out the soles of his leather shoes rambling the cobbled streets and the carpeted nightclubs. He had quite the time of his life here. 

He wants to bring Charles to all the best places in town but he knows the three days they are to spend here are not enough. Clearly : there's the huge beautiful castle on the eponymous craigh, there's the Cuir Bookshop, the nightclub, the restaurant, so many places to go to. Tomorrow, they are having lunch at the Italian Restaurant he had loved so much, his friend will be with them as it will be the way to repay him for letting them stay at his place. 

The train is slowing down in a low hiss : "Ladies and gentleman, we inform you that due to unforeseen circumstances our arrival to Gillamoor will be delayed by about ten minutes.". When they finally stop, it's in the middle of nowhere and certainly not close to a train station. Charles is puzzled, but Erik is nonplussed : it was quite frequent and he had learned not to be to concerned when that happened. He uses the time he has to gather their stuff. They travel light but between the books, the chess set and their food, they had sprawled quite a bit since the beginning of their journey northwards. 

He puts on his light coat, (he knows that it is a bit colder than in Westchester) and invites Charles to do the same. As Charles zipps his jacket, the train rattles back into motion and in one long swift, push makes its way without a stop to Gillamoor. So much without a stop that it almost misses the station. Charles does not travel often and he confides to Erik that it seems to be quite an epic to go to Gillamoor. Erik chuckles and makes a mental note that he should do his best to broaden his boyfriend's horizons.To begin with, the bookshop and its vaulted basement will do wonders. Before going at James' they will have lunch at the eatery on their way. 

A few minutes later, they are finally alight from the train and to the platform. Charles admires the large gilded clock adorning the great hall of the King Street Station. The bustle of the crowd jostles a bit the admiring lad and Erik whisks him away from the throngs pouring on the platform to a place of relative quiet. He picks a map of the city at a nearby kiosk, hands to Charles and explains him what they are going to do : They will take the subway and four stops down the line to Willow Street, then some walking to a backstreet where they will have lunch and then some more walking or a cab, depending on their mood, to James' place. Charles approves and they make their way to the overcrowded subway. 

* * *

The station is full of unfamiliar smells : the smells of the largest city north of the realm. The smell of cheap fries and mustard when they pass in front of cafés where business persons grab a bite to eat before catching their trains, the scent of paper and ink as they pass the newstand to make their way to the subway station downstairs, the litres of coffee gulped by the passengers, it makes him dizzy... Charles is not used to that. 

He wonders how can Erik walk through the crowd without being jostled at every step, but then takes off a few seconds to watch him and not just his arse, careful not be distanced. Erik walks like the Winter Soldier, long, determined, strides : he walks with a purpose and head carried high and so the crowds move aside. Charles is not a man to walk like that, usually he strolls rather than walk but he is fed up with being manhandled by the throngs of people and so decides to imitate his boyfriend. That is still very tentative and so just in time for them to be on the subway platform to see the thing leaving the station. Erik has a furtive glance over his shoulder for him, relieved to see him. 

"Alright, Charles?" 

"Alright, Erik. You?"

" 'm fine, but I keep forgetting you are quite new to that. But I know how to make up for that." He apologises. 

And wonderfully well he makes up for that. After the uneventful subway ride, they exit on the large Willow Street but Erik leads him to a smaller street. He does not know where they are going, but that's fine, he is following Erik. He is not alone. He has a map. He has Erik. They walk a few minutes at a leisurely pace, they get to a small place nestled between two taller buildings. Erik pushes the door and gets in first to keep the door open for him, always the gentleman. 

Inside, metal and wood greet him. Wrought iron chairs with muted colour cushions, solid wood tables, it feels like a workshop, the smell of wood shavings is homely. They sit at a small table and gladly drop their duffel bags. After washing their hands, Erik hands him a menu, and he chooses his food, deciding to follow his boyfriend in his choices. Nothing fancy, but after their long journey, it feels so good. And that hot sticky toffee pudding... he almost moans in pleasure after the first spoonful. Erik asks him it's okay for him to lay a hand on his lap and smiles at him fondly. It is oddly endearing that Erik feels the need to ask for every touch, but Charles thinks it touching. Later in the afternoon, after a luxurious coffee they make their way to that friend of Erik's place. 

They get back to Willow Street, Charles enjoys the post-prandial stroll and about fifteen minutes later, they are facing an intercom and they are beeped in after Erik has introduced themselves in a way that Charles never imagined in his wildest dreams : "Heya darlin', 'm here with the boyfriend, let us in!" Charles never heard Erik being so casual with someone, not even with Laura, at work. Erik holds him the door and then shows him to the lift. Once in the lift, Erik smiles predatorily as he drops his duffel to his feet. They are alone. They exchange a quick glance. Charles smiles a yes. And a few seconds later, Erik is kissing him senseless like there was no tomorrow. When they part to catch breath, he hears something along the lines of "I missed it so much..."

Charles feels Erik's hands slither under his thin cotton shirt. His lips crashing onto his. By the time he reciprocates eagerly, the lift pings open to the sixth floor of the small building. He then hear a door opening next to them. Here, a tall, lithe man waves at them with a knowing smirk. Charles feels a bit ashamed to have been caught red-handed but apparently Erik does not feel the less worried for what that man can think. 

He is a couple inches smaller than Erik, his cheekbones are lethal, jet black wavy hair, ice-blue eyes, metal framed glasses, fitted light blue shirt. The two men exchange a long embrace with a generous clasp on the back. They seem to be quite old friends. Charles feels a bit  _ de trop _ . But then, the man introduces himself to him and shakes his hand firmly as his other hand is on his bicep. James invites them back to his flat. A bit sadly, Charles thinks that besides Raven, there's no one he would be able to introduce Erik to. 

Once in the flat, James leads them to a small but clean room with a folding couch. He makes an allusion to a person Charles does not know.  _ Glad it's over, I prefer that one _ , says James with a knowing smile for Charles. Charles who smiles sheepishly. He does not know if he has to cry or to laugh, what is expected of him? 

Their host offers them to fix them something to drink and after some lounging in the diminutive living room they make their way to their bedroom where they will changed for the gig. Erik extirpates a black t-shirt with the name of the band sprawled on it and a white chess knight. He is clearly a fan as Charles has seen him taking twenty good minutes deciding which shirt he should bring for the occasion. Himself did not know what to bring so Erik offered to lend him one of his. 

That it did not look like a mini-dress on Charles was quite a miracle : it owed to the fact that once, Erik bought the wrong size for himself but could not bear getting rid or reselling a Bards of the Autumn tshirt. And it fitted Charles very well. That's how Charles earned himself a new tshirt. Sometimes, he discreetly smells the garment : he claims it smells of Erik. And that is becoming a reassuring smell these days. A blend of coffee, aftershave, silk, peppery mint, paper... For all cliché that it might be, that very special and unique scent that is  _ Erik _ . 

He feels he is allowed to, and so watch longer than necessary his boyfriend shedding his trousers to replace them with fitted black jeans. What an enjoyable sight, what an arse... And that torso, now hidden under the black tshirt... And the.... Charles is practically purring as he observes Erik. His trousers are basic but serviceable jeans. Erik pecks him lightly and offers to make him up. At first, Charles understands that Erik wants to make out. He blushes heavily to the tip of his ears but finally understands and accepts.

And so Erik makes him up. Nothing too showy, nothing too obvious, but all the necessary. His eyes are brought out by a thin line of black kohl and Erik tells him that his lips  _ au naturel  _ are absolutely perfect. Erik himself takes the uttermost care of his own make-up. Charles admires his deft hands applying the mascara as if they did that every other day. Unbeknown to Charles, Erik used to do it every other day : back in his Gillamoor days he had been quite a party animal, only getting tamer when he moved to Westchester. But that Charles does not know yet. 

Facing their reflections in the mirror, Charles cannot help but smile. In the end the wee lad and the tall man are well-matched. He loves Erik's hand on his hip, he loves Erik, he loves Erik's lips onto his and he is ready for an evening to remember. His first time going to a gig, his first actual date. Save the date. 

* * *

James had not changed in the twenty years Erik had known him. His clear laugh, his eyes, his very posh accent and rudest words, he is still the best friend Erik had known for most of his life. He remembers all the nights they had spend talking, the long conversations, the endless texts, the doubts, the questions, the secret making-out, the laughing about making-out, their lives changing. 

Erik meeting Sebastian Shaw at 17, their literature teacher, and falling ensnared. Erik unable to escape, blackmail, pressure and all, Erik being depressed, Erik feeling lower than ever, but James being there, constantly, for three years, till Erik recovered from his toxic "ex", helping him lodging a complaint at the constabulary, holding Erik's hand during his first tattoo.

Sebastian had formerly refused his "boyfriend" to be tattooed and so once he got free at last : "'I am no bird; and no net ensnares me: I am a free human being with an independent will.'" was a bit long quote and so Erik limited himself to "No net ensnares me." Erik's long and slow and bumpy road to recovery, Erik being proud of himself at last. Erik getting back in shape, Erik deciding that he will never hide again. James being always here, through thick and thin. 

And today, introducing his boyfriend to James, proud of himself, proud of who he is, holding hands with a gorgeous and clever man. Because Charles is not just a looker. Erik insures the man still see some people beside him, that he is not isolated, that's why he had led him to the Queer Union. To introduce him to other people, to people that can be his friends and not only Erik's. Because Erik does not want Charles to ever feel terrible like when Shaw had him under his spell.

* * *

Before walking to the nearby concert venue, Charles goes to the loo and stays there longer than necessary. He feels he has to give a moment of intimacy to James and Erik. After all, there might some conversations the two best friends should want to be private, and that, Charles understands well. 

Charles who should have felt concerned as James entered the bathroom where his boyfriend still is but he does not know why, but he trusts the thin man even if at first it had seemed his icey eyes over his body had felt like being x-rayed. The two men don't whisper, there is no feeling of hush secrecy but all the same they are not especially loud either. That must be a very serious conversation. When they open again the door, both smile and James clasps a firm hand on Erik's shoulder : "You deserve it, lad!". Charles was not sure he would one day see someone calling Erik, lad. 

Erik automatically comes back to Charles and pecks his cheek. He picks his backpack in their makeshift bedroom and packs their survival kit for the gig. From tissues to water bottles and several sets of earplugs, he gets everything they need and nothing superfluous. 

Time to go apparently. James tells them he will wait for them later so they don't have to worry for the door code but gives his phone number to Charles, in case of anything happening. Once back in the street, Charles realises that many people around them are dressed like them. Not many have the confident stride of his boyfriend but all bear proudly their colours. They all converge to the same place, the 500, Willow Street. The building is black, its name graffitied in yellow : "The 500". Now they have to wait for the doors to open. 

Forty minutes later, they are finally inside and try to find the best place to attend comfortably the gig. Charles never went to such type of concerts. The few he went to were classical music recitals his mother had wanted him to attend.

Once they are settled not far from the stage, Erik asks him what he wants to drink. Charles has frankly no idea, and so asks Erik to bring him the same thing he will have himself. Erik chuckles but he complies. the room starts to fill steadily, several people steal an appreciative glance at Charles. A first person tries to chat him up, but as soon as he realises Charles explains he is already taken, he apologies with a smile and says something about "Someone is lucky."

The following one is not so nice. Blue steel eyes, older than most people in the room,, closely shaved, a red ascot. He looks surprisingly out of place or somehow out of time. His words are charming, flowing like a river of silk but barely more audible than a whisper. He introduces himself as Klaus and tries his best to charm Charles. He even asks him to follow him outside in a nearby alleyway. His hands are becoming more insisting.

When he sees that the younger man does no play into his game, he gets suddenly angry, menacing, his smooth face suddenly deformed under his rage and contempt as he spits insults. Charles freezes, he doesn't know what to say or what to do beside repeating STOP over and over again till he is almost shouting.

It draws the attention of nearby people in their direction, some people watch, some other turn their heads. But no one feel they can intercede. Charles yelps and tries to push the man. He curses at Charles abundantly as he almost fall on the floor, and this time, it draws the attention of the security crew. The two men deal with "Klaus" who is violently shouting and kicking and they bring him to a backroom. A gruff one with improbable hair immobilize him for good. They then ask Charles if he wants to log a complaint but he looks at them absentmindedly still in shock. A third member of the crew offers him to make him a cup of tea for his nerves. He accepts shyly but gratefully and then realises that Erik is going to worry. 

"Erik does not know I'm here," Charles seems very concerned now, even more concerned for his boyfriend than for himself. 

"Who's Erik?" asks the man handing him a cuppa.

"My boy... my friend friend...erm, my boyfriend, he went to buy us some drinks." 

"What's his name? We can ask for him to come here." The man says it as if it was the simplest thing and it is the simplest thing. 

* * *

Erik is making his way back from the bar where he picked two glasses of cider when the loudspeakers in the hall creak. He half-expects it to be the message calling the people to regain their spots in the main room if they want to attend the concert but when the announcement, after the usual formulas, goes along the lines of  _ We ask Erik Lehnsherr to show up at the staff room _ , he sincerely does not know what to expect. He fears something had happened to Charles. 

He does turn up to the staff room after dropping his two pints on one of the tables in the hall. In the small, dimly lit room, Charles is sat on a desk chair, huddling a mug for warmth, looking somewhat shaken. He rushes to him and kneels by the chair but scrambles to his feet under the glance of the crew. : "What happened, schatzi?" Charles tries to reassure him with a wan smile : "Oh nothing, pretty much nothing, that's fine.". Erik turns to the man behind Charles : "What happened, tell me?" 

The man explains and says that police had been called and they have taken care of the intruder as Charles did logged an harassment complaint. Erik asks : "What's his name?" When the crewman says nothing he reiterates his question but louder. Still unrelentless, he asks again but Charles shakes a bit and he suddenly feels guilty. He wraps his large hands over his boyfriend's thin shoulders and kisses his forehead. "It will be fine, it will be fine, I swear." 

Charles says something about the concert being about to start in a few minutes. Erik laughs feebly and says to him there is no need to worry for that, that they can come back at James' if he wants to have some quiet time. Sure, Erik would be a bit disappointed to miss the gig but his boyfriend's mental health's much more important than a concert. However, Charles says he wants to stay. This time the words come out more steadily, he has made up his mind and Erik knows Charles can be as headstrong as he is. 

Charles puts the mug back on the coffee-stained table, thanks the crew man for the cup of tea and walks back decidedly to the main room. He is to go to the constabulary the following morning to formally lodge a complaint and fill all the paperwork but says something about enjoying a good moment with his boyfriend and that he is determined to not be robbed of this.

Erik reassures him the best he can, whispers silly endearing nonsense against his hair and kisses the top of his head as he wraps Charles in his arms and tells him it's not his fault, that it is fine and that he is guilty of nothing. Gradually, Charles relaxes till he is almost melting in his embrace. It takes time but he will repeat it each time his boyfriend needs it.

The lights are dimming gradually, Erik hands him the earplugs, till the room is pitch-dark save for the emergency exits. And when Charles thinks it will be absolutely dark, the stage bursts in a flurry of colours. The band appears on the stage and the room explodes under the exultant shouts of the crowd.

Charles seems to enjoy himself and relaxes, starts to sing along after the fifth song. Erik frequently checks on him, makes sure he stays hydrated and that from time to time eats a sweet in order not to collapse and faint like it had happened to Erik at the first gig he went to, now over seven years ago. At some point, he gets Erik's attention by tugging on his t-shirt and shouts him a  _ thank you  _ that drowns into the music and kisses him softly on his tiptoes. Yes, Erik will have to thank Laura and he will tell Charles it was thank to her that they managed to secure the tickets. Erik knew Charles had been jealous of the French girl with the fabulous mane. 

And there, right at the front of the 700 strong crowd, just after Erik sang along his favourite song on the top of his lungs, he kisses Charles like there was no tomorrow. He is eager. He wants him like never before. His blood is boiling hot. Fuck. He must keep in control. It's exhilarating. He keeps on singing aloud in order to keep his feelings and impulses on check. He won't  _ ravish _ Charles on the spot. But as soon as the concert will be over that will be... madness. All the same he enjoy the last thirty minutes, in bliss. No detour by the merch table tonight. 

* * *

The spring night is still warm and Charles feels very warm inside. Music had made his panic thaw and melt like sun on snow. As if the music had heated him body and soul. Tonight he wants it to be the big night, to get rid of the fear he had felt when that man Sebastian threatened him. He knows they are not staying in an hotel so that would be quite embarrassing tomorrow morning to face James and his grin, but he wants Erik, wants him tonight. To be safe in his big arms. So, to hell with shame. He notices his boyfriend walks faster than earlier that evening and it takes them ten minutes to reach James' place. 

Erik punches the code to the door and they barely reach the building's hall that they can no longer keep their hands off each other. Now that they are in full light, he can see his boyfriend wants him as much as he does. In the lift, they try to keep it quiet the best they can but that's becoming increasingly hard to repress his want, his need for more friction, for skin to skin contact. He longs for something he never had. 

* * *

The lift opens, they knock at the door as it was planned earlier and after some fumbling with the keys, James opens them the door, only wearing grey boxers and a matching faded t-shirt. He smiles at them knowingly : "There's no way I am asking you how was the concert, or else you murder me?". As they go to their bedroom, he goes to the bathroom to retrieve a little white box and winks at them, Charles looks at Erik, puzzled. "Earplugs, in case we are vocal. Mr James here needs his beauty sleep." 

They wait for James to be back in his room, door properly closed and once they are in theirs, they go for it. They get rid of their sticky black t-shirts, and it takes a bit of an effort for Erik to shimmy out of his skin-tight pants and underwears : no one can say he is not eager. Charles removes both underwear and trousers in a single swift movement. He does not know if it is the concert, but he feels bold. Once out of his own trousers, Erik rushes to his duffel from where, after a bit of rummaging, he retrieves a packet of condoms and some lube. 

He feels Charles' glance settling on his arse and murmuring something about the Sound and the Fury. Yes, that's a Faulkner quote on his left cheek : "I give you the mausoleum of all hope and desire.". A lifetime ago he had drunkenly bet with James he would get that inked to his skin and apparently Charles cannot help asking something about being top or bottom and Erik tells him he likes both but he does favour bottoming.

He knows he is clean, he gets tested every month at the campus clinic and he did so two weeks ago but he wants Charles, who has never been sexually active before (as he had told him in one of their long conversations) to feel safe. Erik drops the paraphernalia on the little table that tries its best to be a bed-stand. His ministrations are full of love and care, his heart swells as Charles darts his lube-coated fingers into himself, listening diligently to his advice. Tomorrow morning, they will go to the constabulary but in the meantime they make love like he rarely made. So much love, Charles is so eager to learn, that's bloody fucking good. 

When they go to bed for good, they are bit sticky from come and sweat. Yes, they should shower now as they will regret it in the morning but for the moment, it's all too good to be warm, basking in the afterglow. 

* * *

After a modicum of a shower, they make his way to the kitchen, only wearing boxers shorts for Erik but Charles insisted on putting on the pyjamas he brought with him. James is already there nursing a mug of coffee and munching distractedly on a barely buttered toast and whistles loudly : "Great God, Lehnsherr, time did you favours." Charles does not know what to think of that man admiring his boyfriend but after all they are best friends, it might not be uncommon for men to express mutual admiration. Charles does not know, Charles never had a best friend. 

After breakfast and some dressing-up, they make their way to the constabulary, Charles is a bit anxious and jumpy when Erik takes hold of his hand, afraid that some passerby might be agress them or throw bad words at their face. He does not know how Erik can walk so proudly, large strides of pride, after what happened. Erik says something about being proud of who you are and not letting an arsehole define your life or who you are and squeezes his hand tighter. 

At first, it does seem it is some self-persuasion or something of the sort, but all the same, Erik is right. He cannot let an obnoxious man make choices for him. In front of the constabulary, several people are smoking, some look exhausted, some huddle a paper cup of coffee, the place looks quite dreadful. After the three steps, Charles enters a long corridor with a counter at the beginning of it. The cerberus watches him clinically and asks : what's for? The words tumble out of his mouth no matter how he rehearsed them in his mind before arriving here. Behind the desk, the man dials a number on his phone, barks a few things and someone gets out of the corridor and asks Charles to follow them. The woman with silver short cropped hair has a look for Erik and after a few agonising seconds allow him to follow to a small windowless room.

No matter hostile the lady has seemed at first, once Charles explained what had happened the previous night, she become much more sympathetic and even offers him a cup of tea and hands him a packet of tissues. It feels awful to say everything that happened, how the man insinuated himself under Charles' tshirt, how he had spoke to him, his threats, his harsh words, his mad eyes... Charles shudders as he sobs dry tears. Erik lets his hand rest on the small of his back, his thumb running in circles to soothe him. 

When PC Munroe asks him if he has any idea of who the man is, he says in a whisper : Klaus. It takes him a few seconds to add, as if it was an afterthought : "but I felt it was not his real name". He does not quite know why but to him the man could not be a Klaus. And who would do such a thing under their real name. The policewoman thanks him for his intuition as she is still typing the report. When she walks them back to the door, she has a last soothing word for him. 

After what had seemed a few excruciating hours (in reality they had been there only an hour), they are finally out of the damn place and Charles feels relieved, Erik feels relieved and offer they grab a bite before going to another place he is sure Charles will enjoy. He himself enjoys it immensely. The bookshop.  _ Cuir _ . Its vaulted ceilings, the basement room, the art books, everything. 

Charles never saw such books before in person, sure he did watch porn like most teenagers but to see these displayed to all eyes and grabby hands, it is quite something. Some are downright filthy, others are artistic, some are filthy and artistic. He smiles at the  _ Tom of Finland _ posters on the wall. It's not possible to have such a massive... thing, he would have thought only a few months prior, but now, he knows Erik and he asks himself if his boyfriend would not have been a perfect subject for the artist. Erik all leather clad... A bookshop is definitely not the best place to think about that, though.

All the same, the place is quite lovely for some nice purchases. He buys a couple postcards reproducing Tom's art and a little book he really does not want Erik to see. Not that he is ashamed, but it is a bit embarrassing to be seen buying something with a title along the lines of "The Joys of Gay Sex : a Beginner Handbook" and so he settles on a slim book of verse. He also finds a little present for Erik and he will offer him once they will be back on the train for Westchester the following day. 

Once he is done with his purchasing, he gets back to Erik and says something about a present for James. Erik laughs heartily at the idea of offering something to James but says that the person they should thank is Laura. Charles looks at him quizzically and that's how he gets Erik to tell him the full story of her scheming. It takes a solid ten minutes but after that, Charles feels that jealousy is slowly fading into gratitude. Still, there is a smidge of envy, but it's no longer the gnawing feelings of the first days. 

Neither James nor Laura are the gift type but all the same, Erik says something about a nice restaurant where they used to eat. A bit of dialling on the phone and that's sorted, tonight, they are going to Celestino's. A table booked for three. For Laura, he does not quite know her the way his boyfriend knows her but they go for the safe bet of bringing her back a tin of shortbreads. Naughty ones they bought at the tea shop adjacent to the bookshop. 

Erik gets out of the shop with another paper bag and Charles cannot help wondering. And he would not say a word. That's likely to be a book but what kind of book is an entire mystery to Charles. He will know soon enough. They are not used to hide things from each others but the surprise is quite enticing. Erik's squalid smile gives his boyfriend ideas of shagging him senseless and boneless. That being said, Charles tells himself he is quite new at the exercice and he might need some practice before reaching such a level. Of course, that won't prevent him from trying to achieve such standards. Maybe after the restaurant, if they are not too tired? 

And they are indeed too tired to do anything but that does not prevent them from kissing sloppily and sleepily. Sometimes the kisses to the cheeks slide softly to the mouths, the entwined fingers are caressing as the two men are drifting into slumber. Erik kisses Charles' knuckles and that's his last conscious action before sleeping for good. 

The following morning they wake up by seven with a grunt. Such an ungodly hour. (In fact, not so much, but it is always too early when you have to put an alarm to wake up.). Several sips of coffee and a shower later, they almost feel like they are decent again. Anyway they will nap in the train, trying not to miss their stops. 

James drive them to the station, barely repressing a yawn that could unhinge his jaw and once on the platform, he pulls Erik in an embrace and quite unexpectedly, wraps Charles in the same bone-crushing embrace. _ See you soon _ , says the man with a wink as Erik and Charles climb in the train. That weekend has been terribly busy, some terrible things happened, some very good things happened, no matter which, they will talk of both, but for the moment, it is time to go back home. Home to new adventures, home to new stories, but that will be enough for today.

  
  


* * *

__Some years later..._ _

His first time in such a place. Erik leads the way and pushes the door with a smile at the owner. Charles feels a bit out of place but cannot help admiring the photographs showing several works of the artist they are visiting that morning. His eyes linger on an intricate and torn cage on the round of a hip. He knows that hip. Erik smirks when he smiles at him. To find that familiar sight in that unfamiliar setting definitely help reassuring him, holding Erik’s hand proudly, a single silver band ornate his ring finger. He can do that, he can be himself here.

The first meeting. The artist makes them seat by a small round table and they talk for a solid thirty minutes. Erik lets him speak, supplying the technical terms should they be needed, hands him the sketches timely. They make a great team together actually. The woman tests Charles’ motivation and asks the important questions. She does not want the chap to have regrets later. He is a firstie after all. She is talented, she knows it, but to have something (almost) forever inked in your skin, it takes some commitment.

After another hour of sketching and exchanging about what and where should be the piece, they take a new appointment for the following week. They have to be careful several weeks afterwards because the skin is still a bit tender and sore, but once they release all the pent-up frustration it’s even better than a wedding night. 

The (now) head librarian is still bloody gorgeous and totally fuckable, and the university professor adds  _ He is mine _ with a smile for the silver band on his fourth finger.

  
  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> If you want my opinion on that, both translations have their merits but like Erik I might actually prefer the Scott Moncrieff one.


End file.
